The Offering (Lesbian, Gay, Girlxgirl)

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Everyone wanted to get closer to the guests, the foreigners. Their faces were hidden by wooden masks, expressionless features that were carved with eyes and nose in front to be identical. Even so, you could tell that they didn't originate from there based on their skin color. Some weren't as white as Brielle, though in all honesty, she doubted that anyone was paler than an albino. They were either tanned, dark-skinned, had a milky complexion, or yellowish. Their heights, too, gave them away, but then from what she'd heard, the smaller few were quick on their feet.

Brielle could barely wiggle her arms, much less raise them. They were stuck to her side, pressed to her thighs, as though she was laid on a coffin. She groaned under her breath. It wasn't a nice thought. Brielle stood on tiptoes and scanned a way out of her predicament. Hundreds, even thousands of people had made it to the square. She was a needle in a haystack. They barely paid attention to her or her woes.

The crowd gasped collectively. The drums and cymbals have seized, replaced by trumpet's horns. Their sound was intense, full, and brilliant, vibrating on her stomach, making its way to her mouth. Unfortunately, that wasn't the only reason for Brielle's dizziness. She'd finally caught sight of the master. He was on his way to the seats on the right side of the podium ahead, flanked by throngs of men. She should really get going.

"Excuse me." She wiggled her arms. "Excuse me."

Her words fell on deaf ears. The people barely registered her voice as they shifted uneasily. More than the dismissal, their burning candles drove her mad. One was held next to her hair, too close for comfort.

She cleared her throat again. "I need to go there. My master is waiting for me."

It was like she never spoke at all. Brielle was used to it, had been holding the words back for eight years, but she'd dig herself in a bigger hole if she didn't try. With an effort, she squirmed her arms up, tucking them higher than her waist. She took a deep breath and prepared to scream her request. "Excu—"

"Wow!" the crowd exclaimed, drowning her voice. Brielle's shoulders sagged. Forget about seeing the foreigners. This day was worsening by the minute.

She was still feeling sorry for herself, wondering what to do, when she felt a ripple on her immediate left, like a stone being thrown to water. The people were shifting, adjusting, about to go somewhere.

A man whipped his head to her, and for the briefest second, she thought he was going to scold her for just standing there. "Move," he said. She couldn't understand why his eyes grew large, his mouth forming a perfect O-shape. "Our gates had been breached."

Hearing those words, paranoia overtook the excitement of people. At first there were murmurs, low voices concealed by the continuous blowing of trumpets. When the news spread to just the right number of individuals, the murmurs were no longer there. The crowd pushed and pulled, shoving each other out of the way.

If one good thing came out of the building pandemonium, it was that a small opening was presented right in front of Brielle. Her decision had to be quick. If she went that way, she'd be able to worm through the people, cut through the foreigner's, and make it to her master in time for the announcement.

The opening grew wider. There was no time for self-doubts.

Brielle did the plan exactly how she saw it in her head. She side-stepped people, slipped, and pushed with the others. It was flawless at the beginning. She'd always been agile. It was when she was almost to the guests that the plan backfired. The source of the ruckus was coming from them.